Make Me Feel Okay Again
by HashtagLEH
Summary: Even if it caused his own heart to ache, Bucky would always give Steve what he needed. (Or, 5 Times Steve Needed Punishment and 1 Time Bucky Did.) CP, rated M for safety, will have 6 chapters
1. The First Time

**I think it's hilarious when I post a oneshot, and it clearly shows as complete, but people still follow and subscribe to the fic anyway. Like, did you not see the part where it said it was complete? Even when I say I have no plans to turn the oneshot into a full-length fic, people still follow it. Even if I did have a sudden change of heart and extend beyond the one chapter, I would post it as a separate fic, because it makes more sense to me that way.**

 **However, this one is not a oneshot. See above, where it says it will have 6 chapters? This is true. So feel free to follow this one! You'll actually get notifications for this one, so yay for that. ;)**

 **Hope you like it!**

 **...**

 **5\. January 1937 – The First Time**

The first time it happened, Steve was eighteen.

He'd started living with Bucky just after Sarah Rogers' funeral. Bucky had offered the place without a thought – he wanted to take care of his best friend, even if he didn't say it in as many words when he made the proposal to the smaller boy. And he knew that if Steve was left to live alone, he wouldn't survive – he was sick too often to get a job that would pay enough to stay in the apartment with the heater running, especially with winter approaching. It just made sense for him to pull Steve into his apartment.

Bucky knew as well as anyone that people handled their grief in different ways, but he wouldn't have pegged Steve to be one who would argue with anyone just for the sake of arguing. He knew that Steve was stupidly brave, but he really didn't need to go out _looking_ for fights with people. It didn't even make sense, because Steve wasn't even strong enough to win in these fights he picked with men as big as and sometimes even bigger than Bucky. And they both knew it, even if they pretended not to for the sake of Steve's pride.

Bucky tried to help Steve. He taught him how to throw punches better, but the problem was just that Steve's smaller body didn't have the necessary power to make the punch very effective. Bucky intervened as often as he could, going out more often when Steve wasn't at home so that he might be able to find Steve in some alley and get him home.

But the problem was that none of Steve's attitude was abating as time went on. People were supposed to heal and move on, but his best friend just seemed to be getting worse, and Bucky didn't know what to do to help him. There was coping, and then there was destroying yourself, and Steve was beginning to lean heavily towards the latter.

Then Steve began to lash out at Bucky.

Bucky was baffled with the attitude – Steve was picking an argument with him every day over the littlest of things, and he didn't know why. Steve _had_ to know that he wasn't going to beat him up like all the other people in the alleys, didn't he? But that's what it appeared he was trying to goad him into doing.

And then, one Friday night after Bucky came home from the docks, the tension that had been building finally broke, thanks to one little comment.

Tonight the topic of the argument was dinner. Bucky was still trying to keep the arguments down as little as possible, but when he'd made the teasing comment that pancakes were usually a breakfast food, he should've known that with Steve's volatile temper right then that it would turn into a fight.

Steve had immediately got his back up, and Bucky could only think, _Here we go again_ , before the smaller man was retorting sharp and quick, meant to hurt.

And even though he knew that Steve was just lashing out, trying to get a rise out of him like he had been the past several weeks, Steve always knew just what remarks to make that would get him arguing right back.

Bucky always tried calming down the blond before it could get to an argument, and sometimes it worked. But tonight, it wasn't doing anything to help and Steve only cut right back across his placating remarks with his own snapping comments that would get Bucky feeling defensive. And, inevitably, the fight began, quickly escalating as they'd known each other long enough that they knew just what remarks would hurt. Bucky held back on the most painful ones, knowing that Steve would agonize over any remarks later, but Steve wasn't – he was aiming to hurt, to get a reaction out of him. The pancakes were long forgotten in the midst of their arguing.

"What are you gonna do, hit me?" Steve scorned at him at one point, and just as expected, it only made Bucky angrier, because he would never, _ever_ do that.

"Well, I'm certainly not going to beat you up in an alley somewhere, but I'm about ready to pull you over my knee for some quick attitude readjustment!" Bucky retorted without thought.

There had been a brief flicker in Steve's expression, ears going red for a moment before he went right back to angry again. "Oh, _fuck off_ , Barnes," he snarled, fists tight at his sides as he glared up at Bucky. "We both know you may be twice my size, but you're still a pansy at heart who doesn't have the stones to follow through on stupid empty threats."

He opened his mouth to say more, but Bucky didn't let him get there. Without a thought, but with a vague sense of _You asked for it_ in the back of his mind, he grabbed the metal pancake spatula sitting on the counter in one hand and Steve's arm in the other, then turned Steve to the side and brought the flat of the spatula down on Steve's backside with a loud _whap!_

Steve froze, stiffening, and Bucky did too, for just a moment, the thought _Did I really just do that?_ circling repeatedly through his mind. But then Steve began jerking in his grasp, trying to get away while uttering repeated hateful words, and Bucky firmed his resolve.

 _Yes,_ he thought, grip tightening on his friend's arm while he pulled Steve the short distance into the living room. _And I'll keep doing it until he doesn't need it anymore._

Silently, through Steve's squawking protests to be let go, Bucky sat on the threadbare couch and brought Steve stumbling so that he was turned between his legs. He closed his legs around Steve's so that the blond couldn't kick away, and then bent him over one leg, keeping him down with an arm across his back.

Without further ado, Bucky raised the spatula still in his right hand, bringing it smacking down again on Steve's rear. He didn't say anything, through Steve's curses and protesting as the spatula continued to come down, because he knew he wasn't going to be listened to. Not yet.

He wasn't angry anymore, though – irritated, perhaps, but he'd realized that this was just what Steve needed right then. He didn't feel like Steve's parent – he still counted them as best friends – but perhaps he could tack on "guardian" to what he was to Steve _(best friend, brother, confidante, other half)_. Because he remembered, when he was younger, and his ma would bring him over her own knee, and after that things didn't seem quite so unbearably large. He knew that Steve's ma had administered spankings to her son as well, so it was fairly simple to connect the dots that a spanking was what Steve needed at the moment to let out his pent up emotions. Even Steve had recognized that. But of course, Steve was Steve, and he wasn't going to admit that – he would fight as much as he could to get away and continue being angry.

Bucky hadn't been counting his swats, but it couldn't have been a whole two minutes before Steve's struggling began to abate, his hoarse protests tapering off. A moment later, a choked sob came from the blond, and Bucky finally began to speak.

"I don't like to see you destroying yourself, Stevie," he said firmly, though still gently as he continued raining down smacks on Steve's backside. "And I know you feel trapped right now, because you don't know what to do without your ma." Steve's breath shuddered as he tried to keep his crying in. "But you have to know that you're not alone. Even if you have nothing else, you'll always have me. And I'm gonna try my damnedest to make sure you're alright, even if it's something that you don't like. I'm with you till the end o' the line, pal – remember?"

A moment, a pause, a breath – and Steve finally went limp, ceasing resistance completely and letting go of the hold on his tears. Bucky let one last swat fall before he tossed the spatula away and relaxed his hold on the smaller man. He rubbed his hand in comforting circles over Steve's back, heart aching with Steve's pain.

"It's okay – just let it out," he murmured encouragingly, "You'll be alright."

After several moments of Steve showing no signs of moving, Bucky put his arm around Steve's middle and lifted him up. Steve, still crying, was limp and pliant as Bucky situated him on his lap so that his stinging rear wasn't being sat on but he could still wrap his arms around him. Steve sobbed and clutched Bucky's shirt, tucking his head under his chin. Bucky simply held him closer and rocked him, letting Steve cry it out.

"'M sorry, Buck," Steve said tearfully after several minutes, not relaxing his hold on the front of his now wet shirt in the slightest. "Please don't…'m sorry I…"

"Hey, it's alright now," Bucky assured him in a quiet, soothing voice, rubbing his hand reassuringly up and down Steve's arm. "You'll be alright."

It took several more minutes for Steve to stop crying, and by then he'd fallen asleep, exhausted after the emotional turmoil of finally letting loose. Bucky didn't release his hold though, feeling a strong surge of protectiveness for the smaller man in his arms. Leaning back on the couch, he adjusted Steve to sit more comfortably, pressing a kiss into the hair at the top of his head.

Closing his eyes, he listened to Steve's even breathing, the comforting sound lulling him to sleep.


	2. The Time He Asked

**This chapter is twice as long as the first chapter, but the next chapter is about half as long, so I suppose it all evens out. ;) Thanks for all of the support on both sites - hope you enjoy this chapter, too!**

 **...**

 **4\. March 1942 – The Time He Asked**

After the first time, it was a lot easier for Bucky to see when Steve felt that he needed punishment in form of a spanking. Every time, Bucky tried to talk him out of it, assure him he needed no punishment and that whatever he thought was his fault _wasn't_ , but inevitably he would end up over Bucky's lap. Bucky hated to see him in pain, but he wasn't going to deny his best friend what he felt he needed.

But Steve had never explicitly _asked_ for punishment before. That seemed to be lowering himself a bit too much for his liking, so he just acted out in a way that screamed _"Please do something about this – please help me, notice me, show me that you know me enough to know what I need."_ After some time of this, Bucky had figured out just what Steve wanted – _needed_ – and when.

After the United States officially declared itself a part of the war, he could see the need building up in Steve. Not the need for punishment, but the need to be a part of this, of serving his country. He worried for Steve's health, but more than that, he worried for his emotional state when he inevitably signed up and was disqualified for said health reasons.

When that day came however, Bucky was surprised that Steve hadn't come home looking for a fight. He'd simply looked…sad. Not defeated, exactly, because there was still a fire of determination in his eyes, but there was a certain sense of brokenness he couldn't help displaying for all he tried to hide it.

Bucky pretended that nothing was wrong, as was usual. He gave Steve encouraging words, telling him that he didn't _need_ to be a soldier to do his part for the country. He made spaghetti with extra sauce, even though they were running low, because it was just the way the smaller man liked it. Steve was quiet while they ate, not contributing much to the conversation, but Bucky didn't let it deter him, hoping that he could cheer him enough that Steve wouldn't feel the need to go over his knee.

After dinner and clean-up, Bucky went to the living room to read, expecting Steve to join him with his sketchbook like they usually did when they were home at the same time. Steve disappeared into the bedroom, presumably to get his drawing supplies, but after a couple of minutes Bucky began to wonder if the other man had just gone to bed.

It was just as he had made the decision to go and check on the blond that Steve reappeared in the living room, not holding his supplies as usual, but instead one of his worn leather belts. Feeling the tension increase in the room, Bucky set his book down, eyes flicking from Steve's face to the belt he was holding as the other approached.

Steve stopped in front of Bucky, and Bucky remained silent while he watched the emotions flicker across his friend's face. He looked awkward, a bit embarrassed, slightly afraid, but mostly determined, and after a long moment, he wordlessly held out the folded belt to the brunette on the couch.

"What do you want me to do with this, Stevie?" Bucky finally asked when Steve didn't say anything. His heart beat a fast tempo in his chest, hoping somewhat fruitlessly that Steve didn't mean… _that_.

"I need you to hit me with it," Steve said in a determined, low voice. His hands were clenched in fists at his sides, and his shoulders were bunched up around his ears.

Bucky felt his heart sink. "Why?" He didn't know how he managed to make his voice steady enough to get the word out.

"Why does it matter to you?" Steve snapped, more of his own personality finally leaking out of him as he was distracted from his apprehension. "Why can't you just hit me like normal and be done with it?"

"Spanking someone and abusing someone are two completely different things, Steve, and don't pretend you don't know that," Bucky scolded him. "And if I'm going to be taking a belt to you, I'd think I would have the right to know why you think such severe measures are necessary."

Steve remained defiant for several long moments, before his shoulders finally slumped and he admitted, "The recruiter said that I wouldn't last a day in training, let alone in the battlefield. Even without all of my sicknesses, I'm so skinny that if I got an injury I wouldn't be able to push through the pain enough to do any good to my comrades."

Bucky wanted to march down to the recruiter's office and kick a few asses right then, especially the ass of the man who had said such things to Steve. It made sense now why Steve would feel the need to prove himself with the pain that Bucky could give him, but he waited for Steve to explain that himself.

"I don't need the normal spanking," Steve said lowly, his face red. He'd always felt embarrassed to say the actual word or talk about what they did in such frank terms. "Kids get whacked all the time by their ma, and they're always just fine." Never mind that Steve got spankings a lot more severe, because he was an adult who could handle more. Bucky didn't say this, because Steve was still trying to get his explanation out.

"So, if you could…the belt, it will…not that I would _tell_ the recruiter, but…at least to me…" Steve stuttered, clenching and unclenching his hands uncertainly as he stumbled over his explanation.

"You want me to belt you so that you can prove to _yourself_ that you can take it?" Bucky clarified. Steve nodded fervently, expression relieved that Bucky understood.

Bucky watched Steve for several moments, trying to think of some way he could dissuade his friend from taking this route. Bucky had always thought that Steve was strong – stronger than anyone he'd ever known. The fact that it wasn't physical strength mattered not a whit to Bucky, because the brunette knew that he would never reach the level of _goodness_ that Steve possessed without even trying. And it wasn't fair that Steve couldn't see that, that no one else would give Steve a chance for _them_ to see that, only judging what Steve looked like on the outside rather than the amazing person that Bucky knew within.

And it was those bastards that were making Steve feel this need to prove himself now – if only to himself.

And that thought gave Bucky an idea.

"So, if I understand correctly," Bucky said, "You need to know that you would be able to survive in the war, even if the recruiters think otherwise." Steve nodded. "So logically, every person in the army should be able to take some pain, and this is the method you're choosing to prove it to yourself." Steve nodded again, and Bucky mused absently how normally Steve would recognize the plotting tone of voice in his best friend, but right now he was too nervous to notice anything outside of the actual words.

"Alright, then," Bucky accepted. "I'll belt you – on one condition."

Steve was finally beginning to look wary, catching on that his best friend had something planned. "What condition?" he asked cautiously.

"You're going to count every stroke out loud," Bucky instructed. "And when I'm done belting you, you're going to deal me the same amount of blows, with the same amount of strength I use on you."

"What?!" Steve squawked, eyes widening while he took an involuntary step back. " _No!_ Why would…"

"I'll be joining the army too," Bucky cut across his protests with a calm he didn't exactly feel. "So shouldn't we be sure that _I_ would be able to take some pain, too?"

"But I already _know_ you'd be able to take it," Steve said exasperatedly.

"And _I_ know _you_ would," Bucky said firmly. "But that doesn't exactly convince _you_ , does it?"

Steve's mouth opened and closed many times, fumbling for what to say. Bucky's expression softened slightly at the look of vulnerability not often visible in Steve, and he reached out, leaning forward to grab the blond's arm and maneuvering him over to sit next to him on the couch. He put his arm around the skinny shoulders and tugged him close to his side in an approximation of a hug.

"If for nothing else," Bucky murmured into his hair after a long moment, "I want to be certain that we're doing this safely. I don't want you to keep going past the point you can physically stand because you have something you need to prove to yourself. If you know that I'll be getting the exact same treatment, at least it will keep you from going too far."

"But this isn't the same way that _you_ deal with a fucked-up head," Steve muttered. "It doesn't work the same way."

"No, it doesn't," Bucky agreed readily. "But if it was anyone else who was doing this for you, who didn't care as much about you as I do, I don't even want to think about how far you would let them go. You've always been particularly self-destructive, with a bit too much of a guilt complex for you to use your safe words if and when you need it."

"Bucky…" Steve said in a small voice, sounding vulnerable in a way that he hated appearing in front of anyone else.

"It's alright, Stevie," Bucky assured him. "I've had my ass whooped before, and I'll take as many licks as you need me to give you."

Steve hesitated for a long moment, before he finally nodded and held out the belt again. "Alright," he accepted unhappily. Bucky took the belt, folding it in half and holding it by the ends while Steve moved to bend over the arm of the couch. Bucky said nothing about the new location, correctly deducing that Steve wanted him to have a freer range of movement, so that the strokes would be harder. Taking this into account, Bucky picked up his book and tucked it under his arm to limit his range of movement, before stepping behind Steve.

Knowing that Steve would notice and not wanting to get into another argument – or worse, have Steve think that Bucky thought him weak – he didn't start off light, instead getting right into it. To his credit, Steve barely flinched at the forceful blow to his backside, fingers only tightening almost imperceptibly on the pillow he'd grabbed for support. But he remained silent after the strike, so Bucky paused with his arm upraised.

" _Count_ , Steve," Bucky insisted. He knew that if he didn't do it out loud, Steve would try to get away with dealing him fewer blows when it was his turn.

A beat, and then Steve said in an even voice, "One."

Nodding to himself, Bucky let the belt fall again with a snap upon Steve's buttocks.

"Two," Steve went on obediently, so Bucky kept going.

By the time Steve got to "Fourteen," his voice strained as he tried to keep his voice even, and on "Twenty-three," his voice cracked with carefully held back tears. Bucky paused for the briefest moment there, but Steve wasn't calling it to a halt, so he reluctantly kept going.

It was at thirty-four when Steve finally said in a shaky voice, "That's enough." At the predetermined safe words, Bucky dropped his arm, immediately ceasing while Steve carefully straightened with a bitten-off hiss of discomfort at the movement.

As soon as he was standing, Bucky dropped the belt and set aside the book, going over to Steve and enfolding him in a hug. Steve's eyes were watery and red, but no tears had fallen, and Bucky marveled anew at how strong his best friend was. He knew that if he looked at the blond's backside, bruises would be blooming under the skin, and not just because he easily bruised.

"'M okay, Buck," Steve muttered, though he accepted the hug and returned it himself, squeezing tightly enough that the brunette knew he didn't want either of them to pull away just yet.

It was when he felt Steve's arms loosen just slightly that he finally pulled back. "My turn, Steve," he said resolutely. Steve's face fell, but he knew Bucky well enough by now that he didn't bother arguing any more. He bent down to retrieve the belt from the ground, while Bucky took the place Steve had been moments before. He clutched the same pillow to his chest, idly thinking how it smelled strongly of Steve.

"Thirty-four, Stevie," he reminded him, and then tucked his chin into the pillow.

Something fell lightly upon his rear, and it took a moment to realize that Steve had begun his part without a word to him. He huffed and turned his head slightly.

"I know I hit you harder than that, punk," he chided. "If it's not the same strength, it don't count."

Steve huffed. "Why do you have to be so damn _wholesome_ all the time?" he groused, trying to hide the shakiness in his voice. Bucky felt a pang of sympathy, because Steve had never been on the other end of the 'punishments' before, and he was much too worried about seriously damaging him.

"I learned it from my best friend," he answered casually. "You might know him – blond, Irish, most gorgeous baby blues this side of the Atlantic, and a penchant for getting himself into trouble."

"Jerk," Steve huffed again, though as usual when he said it he merely sounded fond.

"Punk," Bucky retorted, and then wiggled his ass in Steve's direction. "You've still got thirty-four more hits with that there belt, so get to it, soldier."

Steve sighed unenthusiastically, but nevertheless he obediently struck him with the belt again, and this time it was harder. Bucky startled in surprise at the stinging blow, before he said, just as Steve had, "One."

In the end, Bucky technically got more than thirty-four strikes, because he refused to count the ones that weren't as hard as the ones he knew he'd given Steve. Steve had finally realized that though, so by the end he didn't bother trying to make the strikes lighter, because the sooner he could get out the approved thirty-four, the sooner he could be done.

Bucky had tried to be as strong as Steve had, but he also didn't want to have no trace of tears when he was finished, because he knew his best friend would notice. It wasn't all too difficult by the time they got to twenty though, because Steve _could_ hit hard enough that it hurt. He'd known that before, but it was a bit different with all of his blows one after the other. He was breathing heavily by the time they finally finished the allotted thirty-four, and he straightened on his feet after he heard the belt dropped quickly to the floor behind him.

It was just as he turned to look at Steve that Steve's breath shuddered, and he caught sight of a face that was a lot more tearful and red than it had been when he first bent over.

"Oh – Steve," Bucky sputtered, forgetting his own physical pain for the moment as Steve's distraught expression became more apparent. "C'mere." He raised his arms, and Steve immediately burrowed himself into them, vainly trying to suppress his sobs.

"I-I – h-hurt – you," Steve said with hitched breaths.

"I hurt you first," Bucky reminded him, running his hands soothingly up and down the skinny back.

"Because I _asked_ you to!" Steve protested, scrubbing the palm of his hand uselessly over one eye in the limited space he had between Bucky's arms and his chest. "And y'only did it 'cause I said I needed it, an' I coulda jus' not needed it, but 'm too _fucked up_ and I was bein' selfish…"

"Hey – shh," Bucky hushed him gently. "I don't hold it against you that you're getting what you need, punk. But sometimes you're just so stubborn that you push yourself too far. This way, I know that you were doing this safely."

"But I coulda jus' not asked for it," Steve said tearfully, not to be deterred from his guilt. "It's _weird_ , that I need to be…to be treated like a kid to feel better…"

"It's a way to pick through your feelings – it's alright," Bucky assured him. "I've never been unwilling to help you, Stevie."

"But you've never…I mean, we haven't… _switched_ or anything…" Steve said helplessly.

"So you need to be spanked sometimes," Bucky said casually, squeezing him tighter for a moment. "Or, y'know – belted, this time. But what I need is to make sure _you're_ okay. That's how _I_ feel better, I suppose – my own coping method." Steve leaned back a little, and Bucky looked down to see the reddened blue eyes gazing up at him.

"Sure, it hurts," Bucky went on, finding himself trapped by those eyes. "It's s'posed to. But at least I know you're okay in return."

Later on, he would never be able to explain exactly why he did what he did at that moment. But as it was, in one moment he was holding the other man in a comforting grip, and in the next he had leaned down and pressed their lips together in a chaste but not at all brotherly or _friendly_ kiss.

He froze, for the barest instant, doubts and recriminations running through his mind. He'd liked Steve for years, but there hadn't really been a sign that Steve was okay with fairies at all, let alone having an interest in men himself. He'd never even planned to act on his feelings, because they would get married and have their own families in a few years anyway, so what was the point of even _hoping_ for something with him? And while he knew that Steve wouldn't turn him in, what would this do to their friendship? Even if Steve didn't appreciate bullying and bigotry on the streets, surely he would be uncomfortable _living_ with a faggot. Damn it all, but _what_ did he just do to their friendship with this single impulsive move in a moment of heightened emotions?

But then…miraculously…Steve kissed him back. The arms Steve had curled between their bodies moved up to Bucky's hair, thin fingers threading through and tugging him in closer. Bucky tugged Steve in closer to mold against his body, and the kiss grew deeper for several seconds, before finally he pulled back. Keeping his eyes closed, not wanting to risk seeing a look of regret on the blond's face, he rested his forehead against Steve's.

"I thought you liked dames," Steve finally whispered, sounding cautious but also a touch awed.

"I do," Bucky said simply, honestly. "But I like you more."

He finally opened his eyes to see a shy, hopeful smile spread across Steve's lips, chasing away any uncertainties. "I like you too, Buck."

And well, there really wasn't much else to say after that. It wouldn't have mattered anyway, because they were too busy kissing to worry about talking.

 **...**

 **Thanks for reading - I love your feedback!**


	3. The Time He Needed the Reminder

**Okay, so this chapter is shorter than the past two - like, a LOT shorter. It's only a little over 1,000 words. And I'm not altogether too pleased with it either, but rewriting it AGAIN isn't really going to change a whole lot. Maybe I'm wrong, and you guys will like it anyway, but in any case, please be kind.**

 **Also, this chapter has sexy times in it. ;) But it's not explicit, so don't worry. I just figured I should warn people.**

 **Hope you like it!**

 **...**

 **3\. April 1943 – The Time He Needed the Reminder**

After Steve and Bucky got together – in secret, of course – Steve found that he didn't have to always take a spanking as a form of punishment. He needed it in other contexts as well – though this time there was a different kind of enjoyment in it than he'd usually gotten out of it.

It had been an accident, really. They'd been having sex on the floor of their room (because the floor didn't squeak as much as the cot did, so it was better for keeping the secret from the surrounding neighbors), and a thrust in a particular spot had Steve moaning just loud enough for Bucky to hiss a reminder about the noise. Moments later, Steve moaned loudly again, and out of instinct more than anything, Bucky's hand snapped out to smack sharply against the side of Steve's ass.

Close to Steve as he was, he saw how Steve's pupils dilated further and his eyes widened in surprise, and the blond let out a choked, "Shit," before he was coming between them.

Later, through more exploration and experimentation, they'd discovered how the unclothed spanking would turn him on, and even Bucky taking control during sex was arousing to the skinny man. It was a surprise to Bucky certainly, because Steve fought like an alley cat when anyone tried controlling him. And it took a long time for Bucky to assure Steve that it was alright to want that control taken from him for a little bit, under the privacy of their own apartment and just between the two of them. But after Steve had let his guard down a little bit – mostly when he saw how Bucky himself got aroused when he saw Steve's obedience to his words – the orders and the spankings appeared more frequently in their foreplay.

And now…Steve tried not to cry as the end of the day grew closer. Bucky was in uniform, and he was leaving before the sun rose the next day. He was being deployed, and Steve was scared because he didn't know if he'd ever see him again or if Bucky would live through it and if he would come home and kiss him and make him feel loved and _important_ again…

Bucky was telling him about some dames that he'd picked up for them to double with at the Stark Expo that night, where no one would look twice at them and no one would know that Steve and Bucky were actually on a date with each other. Normally Steve would smile fondly at these gestures, because even if the whole world thought otherwise, he knew that they loved each other not just for their male bodies but with the same love that other legal couples had. Bucky would always try and get these double dates or they would go somewhere that they would be thought of as brothers or simply best friends who happened to be bachelors, because he wanted Steve to be treated just like any other person being courted to be. Not that they were courting, but it was close enough. They'd dreamed enough times of going West, maybe to Arizona or New Mexico, where no one would care about a couple of queers…but it wasn't like they had the money to do that, so it was always dismissed in the reality brought with the light of day.

Now though, as Bucky told him about the Expo, he could only think – _this might be our very last date_. And he couldn't muster up the energy to smile at the brunette.

They had a few hours before the Expo, so they ended up just going back to their apartment. They could have dinner there before going out – Steve pushed away the thought that it would be the last meal they'd have together for at least a very long time, if not forever.

As soon as the door closed behind Bucky, Steve could resist no longer, and lunged upwards to catch Bucky's lips in a searing kiss. Though startled by Steve's sudden ferocity, Bucky wasted no time in reciprocating, wrapping his arms around the skinny blond and lifting him so that Steve didn't have to stand on tip-toes. Steve immediately wrapped his legs around Bucky's waist, holding on with his arms pulling Bucky impossibly closer by the neck.

"Please," Steve said, his voice cracking as he moved his lips to Bucky's jaw. "Please hurt me."

"Steve…" Bucky said with a sigh in equal parts sad and aroused while he tilted his head to give his lover better access to the column of his throat.

"I just…" Steve nipped at the side of Bucky's Adam's apple before laving over the spot with his tongue. "I just need the reminder…for when you're gone."

"Reminder?" Bucky managed, aroused brain unable to comprehend just what Steve meant.

"That I'm yours," Steve panted, scraping his teeth lightly down Bucky's neck. "I want you to spank me so hard I'll feel it next week…and then I want you to make love to me on the floor of the living room. Fast and rough, slow and sweet…I don't care which way – you pick." Bucky moaned at the images these words produced, all the more exciting because he knew that they would come to fruition later on.

"Just…" Steve's voice broke again on the tears clogging his throat, and he paused his ministrations for a moment, simply hugging Bucky close like he had no intention of ever letting go. "Just remind me that I'm yours."

"Of course," Bucky breathed into his lover's hair, heart twanging with pain as he remembered how little time they had together before he was shipped off. If there was one thing he could do for Steve now to help him, he would do it.

As promised, he used a hairbrush bought just for this purpose to spank Steve hard enough that his entire backside was the color of cranberries, and he would be surprised if he was able to sit comfortably for the next few days. And as promised, they made love on the floor of the living room, and Bucky couldn't bear but to make it slow and sweet after the harsh spanking he'd doled out. Steve had tears in his eyes the whole time, clutching Bucky close with arms around his back and heels digging into Bucky's ass to urge him deeper, closer.

Afterwards, after they'd cleaned up and righted their clothes – except for Steve leaving his pants off – Steve laid down on the couch on his stomach, bright blue eyes watching Bucky move about the kitchen as he made dinner. They made light conversation, purposely not mentioning anything about the war or people they knew who had been drafted. They wanted to keep this homey feeling of peace with them as long as possible.

And if Bucky happened to make the spaghetti with a little more sauce than strictly necessary, well…neither of them was going to mention it.

 **...**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	4. The Time He Took It

**I was trying to write my thoughts on this one as clearly as I could, but I kind of felt like it still came off abusive, anyway. I'm not trying to have an abusive relationship here, but to some people it might read that way. So, if you have any issues with that, maybe just skip this chapter. (Further details at the end in case you want to check it out.)**

 **...**

 **2\. March 1944 – The Time He Took It**

Steve knew his best friend better than he knew himself. He knew how Bucky looked when he was upset and trying to hide it, and that was exactly what Bucky looked like now.

He also was no idiot, no matter what any official people said because they only saw his body – his new body. 'All muscle and no brain' was the general consensus around the superior officers of the army as well as the government when they saw him. But he knew exactly why Bucky was upset.

Yes, in retrospect it had been a rather impulsive move, to let Doctor Erskine and Howard Stark run the experiment on his body. It was highly unsafe, and there was a large amount of risk involved – he could've died, even. Hell, he'd thought during the painful process that he _was_ going to die. He'd felt like he was getting electrocuted and slowly sliced into little bits at the same time, while someone else was banging a giant mallet on his head, like in the cartoons with the bells that had to be hit hard enough that the piece would shoot to the top.

But it had been his chance. He had the chance to be in the army, to help people, to fight for his country – maybe even see Bucky, if he was fortunate enough.

The thing was, as much as Steve needed the punishments Bucky doled out sometimes, he knew that Bucky benefited too from it – Bucky had always been the mother hen type, and when the brunette had finally _seen_ how the spankings helped him feel better, it made him not so prone to protesting every time he sensed Steve pushing for it.

And he knew that somewhere in his mind, Bucky recognized that about himself – that he needed to spank sometimes as much as Steve needed to _be_ spanked. He needed to have that need fulfilled in a way working overtime and making meals for them just couldn't touch. But the problem was that Bucky saw that need as a need to _abuse_ rather than a need to help in a different way than most. And because Bucky saw it that way, he always loathed that part of himself that felt better when he brought Steve to the point where he could let go of any stress or guilt and just cry.

Bucky always stopped right after Steve lost his usual resistance, and he would always hug him and reassure him and make him feel better, but Bucky didn't realize that a lot of Steve's release came from that cuddling that happened afterwards. If it truly _was_ abuse, then Bucky would have dismissed him right after every spanking, not caring about the physical or emotional pain Steve was in. If it was abuse, then Bucky would spank him more than Steve needed or wanted, would hold him down and use his greater physical strength to hurt him past the stings and light bruises that was usually par for the course when it came to the smaller blond.

But, because he _did_ see it as abuse, and because Bucky never admitted his thoughts _outright_ , instead leaving Steve to figure it out himself, then sometimes when Steve didn't feel that particular urge for punishment, he acted out anyway so that Bucky would have that reason – would have that feeling that he was helping. Because sometimes, he could see the need to help him in the same way that Bucky saw him needing to be helped. They were best friends and lovers – of course they had figured out each others' tells by now. Even when it had been almost a year since they'd last seen each other.

Steve noticed fairly quickly after their reunion and subsequent return to camp that Bucky was antsy, feeling useless in that way that said he needed to do something specifically for Steve. He knew they couldn't do anything in camp, though – everyone would hear, and that was definitely something that they wanted to keep private, even if they _hadn't_ been lovers.

Bucky hadn't said anything yet – not about how he was now Captain America, anyway – and Steve pretended not to notice the oddity of that. There had been a few comments about it at Azzano, but they were more snarks than actual discussion about it. In any case Steve knew that because of those comments, he could get away with pretending not to notice Bucky's silence on the matter since coming back.

He invited Bucky to go walking with him, saying how he wanted to catch up with his best friend while within hearing range of some of the other men who'd been rescued, and if they just happened to walk far away into the trees where no one else would hear the noises they'd be making…well, that was surely just a coincidence.

It was almost surprisingly easy to start up the snarks that would escalate into an argument, although in retrospect it had been a complete accident to step on the landmine.

It started with an offhand comment about Peggy Carter, the dame who'd been following after Project Rebirth. He hadn't known that a compliment to her skills would be what would set off Bucky, though.

"Oh, yes – I think we _all_ saw what's going on between you and Carter," Bucky said with a fake smile and a roll of his eyes.

Steve had been honestly confused by the snide comment only thinly shielded by a mask of faux cheerfulness and teasing, but he decided to pull on the thread anyway as for whatever reason it was a clear sore spot.

"She's real smart," he said with a nod, stepping over a large fallen branch in front of him. "And she punched Hodge in the face our first day at camp 'cause he was bein' rude. It was _awesome_."

"Yeah?" Bucky said archly. "That all someone needs to do to get you interested – punch a guy in the face?"

And now came the time for him to respond to the snark in kind. "'Course not – they need to be a brunette, too," he said derisively. "That's all, though – I'm not a _complete_ heathen, ya know."

"How magnanimous of you," Bucky said sarcastically.

"She's not all that bad, either," Steve went on airily. "I mean, for a woman she's gotten pretty far."

Bucky stopped. "'For a woman'?" he repeated disbelievingly.

Steve pretended not to notice. "Sure," he said casually. "I mean, she probably won't get beyond where she's at now, but at least she put in the effort. I'm sure she'd make a great wife after all this is over."

Bucky stared. "What the _hell_ has gotten into you?" he demanded. "That serum tweak your brain past the twist, too?"

"What?" Steve asked, like he didn't know what Bucky was talking about.

"I've _never_ heard you talk about anyone, let alone a _woman_ , so rudely," Bucky said, staring him down and folding his arms across his chest.

Steve rolled his eyes. "It's not like she's gonna _hear_ us," he said dismissively, though inwardly he cringed at the words he forced from his mouth. "Besides, nothing I said ain't _true_. She's a nice broad, _and_ she's pretty, but that's probably the only way she got this far, anyway." He turned as though to walk away, continuing the thought, "When she goes home, she's gonna make a fella real happy with – ah!"

Even though he'd been expecting it, the hard smack against his rear end wrung a yelp from his throat an instant before Bucky grabbed him and pushed him against a tree, as it was the only thing to brace against. Steve barely had time to grab a branch on the side for support before Bucky's hand crashed down again.

"You get that cocky bullshit right out of your head, Steve," Bucky said firmly, continuing his assault on Steve's rear end. "I don't care if your damn serum is making you think that way – you _fix_ it, or I'll fix it for you. You got me?"

"It's not untru-AH!" He was startled into another cry when something else hit his rear rather than the familiar hand. Apparently Bucky's hand was getting sore against the serum-enhanced muscles and he'd decided on using the only thing available at the moment – one of the thick but short branches that was lying around them in the forest.

"Don't you fucking dare say what I think you were about to say, Steve," Bucky said, continuing the spanking in earnest. Steve absently wondered if it was considered a caning now – he didn't think so, because the branch wasn't thin enough. He knew Bucky never would have used it on him before the serum, because it would be a bruising pain rather than the preferred sting, but it worked differently with his accelerated healing factor, and Steve vaguely thought how it felt like the wooden hairbrush they used normally, so it wasn't _too_ bad – just enough to get his attention.

"I don't care if you're the little guy in Brooklyn who can't stay out of a fight, or Captain America in Europe who apparently rescues soldiers – you do _not_ speak so disrespectfully about a woman," Bucky said. "Not to mention it's completely out of character – I sure as _hell_ hope you didn't leave _my_ Stevie behind when you decided to join the Army."

And there was the crux of the matter.

Steve's heart clenched with sympathy as he realized how Bucky must have felt upon realizing what Steve had done – not just the danger of the serum and all it entailed, but also the worry that Steve would be as different on the inside as he was on the outside. The worry that _Bucky and Steve_ – the duo that had been together since 1926 – would be irrevocably changed, maybe even gone entirely. Yes, Bucky thought it was stupid and impulsive for Steve to go through with the serum, but Steve suspected that at the moment he was more concerned with how it had changed _them_ than anything else.

It took but an instant for these thoughts to flit through his mind, and at the realization he allowed himself to go lax against the tree, showing Bucky how he wasn't fighting the punishment. The tears that pooled in his eyes were entirely due to the sympathy he felt for Bucky, but it was just as well anyway to show the change from defiant to compliant.

And, as expected, Bucky let fall one more strike with the branch, bringing it to a total of thirteen with the wood and eight with the hand, before he dropped it to the side and tugged Steve away from the tree.

Neither one of them said anything for long moments as they hugged, both finding the small difference in height odd when it used to be a much larger distance, and the other way around with Bucky being the taller one, but it was comfortable enough, because just the hug was enough to show that they were still _Bucky and Steve_.

After the long silence, Steve decided to tell Bucky his thoughts, anyway. He didn't want to leave anything to the mercies of over thinking – he knew how bad he himself could get when that happened, and Bucky had always been the same way when he got into that mindset.

"I'm never gonna leave you, Buck," he muttered into his shoulder. "Even with all the enhancements and serums in the world. I'm still yours as much as I was when I was still small, and _no one's_ gonna change that."

Steve could feel the tension seeping from his lover, a testament to how the words truly comforted him.

"And I don't feel that way about Peggy," Steve added, feeling the need to clarify. "I was just rilin' you up, like I always do."

"Good," Bucky said with a small sniff that sounded suspiciously teary. "'Cause it scared me, that you might change as much on the inside as that guy with the red face did. I don't _want_ you to change – I don't care if you're big or small, just don't forget who _you_ are."

"I'm yours," was all Steve could say, because what else _was_ there to say?

Bucky snorted slightly and pulled back. "Damn straight," he retorted. "Although I don't think Carter is aware of that – which is _technically_ a good thing, but I don't like the way she looks at you. Only _I'm_ allowed to look at you like that."

Steve blinked confusedly. "She's just my friend," he explained. "She didn't dismiss me even before the serum – not a lot of people like that, you know."

"Yeah, I know _you_ think you two are just friends, but _she_ certainly doesn't," Bucky sighed slightly in annoyance. At Steve's further look of confusion and bafflement, his expression became fond and he shook his head slightly with a smile. "Of course you don't see it. It's alright – maybe something will come of it, and maybe not. Hopefully not for some time, but – maybe she could be your beard, after the war?"

"Beard?" Steve repeated.

"Sure – marry her and have a family with her – just enough so that people won't yammer about you maybe being a fairy, but that's really it. Because you're _mine_ , and if it wasn't necessary I'd take you just for myself."

Steve loved the possessiveness Bucky had over him – it made something hot flare in his gut. Not quite arousal, but something that made him feel wanted – whole. With anyone else it would have rankled that someone thought they could _own_ him, but not with Bucky. Maybe it was because he knew Bucky loved him and didn't see him as just a body, whether sick and small as he'd been before or after he got the serum and suddenly he was noticed, but in any case he loved that look Bucky got on his face when he felt that possessiveness toward him. He loved that look in his eyes, the tense of his body, that tone in his voice. It reminded him every time of how much Bucky truly loved him, whether it was sick and unnatural or not.

"Come on," Bucky said, slinging an arm around his shoulders and tugging him in for a kiss that Steve returned with enthusiasm. "We probably have a little bit longer before someone is sent out looking for us. Let's make the best of the time we have, hm?"

Steve grinned and nipped his teeth against Bucky's bottom lip. "It's like you're reading my mind," he breathed.

Half an hour later, just before they got close enough to camp that people might see them, Steve tugged Bucky to a stop, and before Bucky could get a word out, he reached over to tug the brunette close and kiss him quickly but passionately.

"I love you," he whispered, pulling away just slightly and resting their foreheads together. "I'm sorry I worried you."

Bucky sighed slightly, giving him a quick peck before answering. "I love you, too, Stevie. Even your harebrained heroics isn't going to change that. But if you ever do anything so _stupid_ – _ever_ again – I'm going to kill you. Or at least pop a blood vessel. So think about that next time some German scientist approaches you with a crazy offer."

Steve laughed softly and kissed Bucky again before pulling away completely so they could continue back to camp. "Understood."

 **...**

 **Basically Steve realizes that Bucky needs to punish as much as Steve feels the need to be punished, but it's not anger that makes Bucky have this need. It's more of a need to see that he's helping Steve in a way that no one else can, in a slightly mother henning sort of way. In this chapter, Steve doesn't feel the need for punishment but he can see Bucky has his own need to punish and feel that usefulness, so he goads him into smacking his backside with a stick so that he can get his feelings out. Even with this though, Bucky doesn't injure him any more than he has in the past. If any of that is an issue for you, don't read this chapter.**

 **I don't know if the term 'beard' was actually used in the forties, but it was the closest I could come to what I meant. Anyone knows what term I should be using should let me know. ;)**


	5. The Time He Dealt With it Alone

**Holy shit this one is a serious tear-jerker. I mean, I meant for it to be sad, but** ** _wow_** **. I cried while writing it – Bucky's death is always the hardest thing I have to deal with in the first Captain America. Then it's the brainwashing in Winter Soldier, because that's just horrible and I want to give him a giant hug. I'm boycotting Civil War because I've never seen it and I live in the belief that Bucky is okay and everyone is happy and together in Avengers tower with no hint of an impending war on the horizon. No one can tell me otherwise, alright?!**

 **...**

Steve was floundering.

It was the best he could describe it as at the moment. He was floundering for a foothold, for something to latch onto, but the one who had always been there, the one who supported him and made sure he wouldn't self-destruct…was gone.

Bucky was gone.

He would say he couldn't believe it, but that wasn't exactly true. He'd seen it happen – it was _his fault_ that Bucky had fallen from the train, into the icy chasm below. So, he _could_ believe it – he just didn't _want_ to.

Bucky had always been there for him. The days and years before he met Bucky were a blur of meaningless days he had few memories of. But as soon as Bucky had come into his life, he remembered the following days with almost perfect clarity. These memories had only been strengthened by the serum, passing in front of his eyes in colors as bright as the days they'd happened. And Bucky had been the focal point, the one who'd always kept him grounded and kept him from getting too depressed from all of his sicknesses and inability to do what everyone else his age could. Bucky hadn't cared that he couldn't do as much and play as much as most other boys their age – he'd stuck by him anyway.

And then the friendship had only turned into something sweeter, something so innocent and yet so _dirty_ at the same time. But not the dirty that came with bad things – no, these were all good things; _pleasurable_ things he'd never felt for anyone else.

Yes, it may have _started_ because of Steve's need to be punished and spanked; yes, they did discover a mutual perversion when those spankings happened while naked; and yes, they did enjoy the depraved sin of two men having sex in most every position imaginable…

But it was more than that. It was more than just the carnal pleasures they got from each other. It was the way they could sit in companionable silence or laugh hysterically with each other in their conversations. It was the way Bucky's eyes softened when Steve entered the room, or he would guide him through an asthma attack with all the patience and love of a saint. It was the way Steve could depend on the fact that Bucky would always put him first before anyone else, and he did the same for Bucky. It was the way they could argue over the stupidest things with each other like they were of national importance, but still be secure enough to apologize and know they would be forgiven by the other. It was the way Steve could watch Bucky breathing slowly and evenly in his sleep, snuggled close and warm in his presence even though the window was a bit drafty. It was the way Bucky would make spaghetti with extra sauce when he was feeling down, because he noticed things like what Steve's favorite food was and planned accordingly. It was the way he tried to teach Steve how to dance to the music that came in on their old radio, and only laughed without offense when Steve would keep stepping on his toes. It was the way Bucky would finally give up and dance himself with Steve in his arms and standing on his toes, pretending they both knew the dance.

It was all the little things in between that made Steve love Bucky. It wasn't just being attracted to men – or Bucky in particular, really – that made him fall in with the handsome brunette. Though the attraction was certainly part of it, he knew that if it was legal he would have married him and been with him forever.

And now…

Bucky was gone.

He could believe it, but he couldn't quite _understand_ it. Bucky's terrified face as he fell from the train continued to flash its way through his mind as he tried to get himself drunk in some stupid bar. Nothing was working, and the beer tasted like piss but he kept drinking anyway in the vain hope that _something_ would get through and allow him to forget for just a _little while_.

It was a bit ironic, he thought darkly as he popped open another bottle. If Bucky were here, he would be going through these emotions with a trip over his knee – perhaps literally, even though his body wouldn't fit the same over the brunette's lap as it had in the past in the way they were both well familiar with. But if Bucky were here, then he wouldn't have these emotions that he _would_ need to get through.

Abruptly the anger he'd felt toward himself for several hours boiled over into white hot rage, and he threw the mostly full beer bottle against the far wall, where it smashed to spill the beer all over it.

And then the rage was gone, as quickly as it'd come, and he felt a terrible sadness wash over him. Breathing shakily, he rubbed his forehead with one hand and picked up another bottle with the other.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't do this without Bucky – couldn't _go on_. All the spankings in the world weren't going to relieve him of the guilt at letting his best friend and lover die. It would be useless, anyway – the only one he _ever_ wanted to spank him was Bucky; he didn't trust anyone else nearly enough to get that close to them again. And _Bucky_ spanking him was never happening again.

It was less than a week later, as the air whistled through the broken window at the front of the plane, that Steve looked at the missiles, and at the controls, and he had the realization. There was no way he was coming out of this alive.

And all he felt…was relief. His heart was still shredded with the pain of losing Bucky, and he didn't think it was a wound that would ever fully heal. If he could go down serving his country, and still be able to see Bucky at the end of it?

Well, there was no decision to be made.

 _I'll see you soon, Bucky,_ he thought, and turned the controls downward, directing the plane into a nosedive toward the expanse of ice was floundering.

It was the best he could describe it as at the moment. He was floundering for a foothold, for something to latch onto, but the one who had always been there, the one who supported him and made sure he wouldn't self-destruct…was gone.

Bucky was gone.

He would say he couldn't believe it, but that wasn't exactly true. He'd seen it happen – it was _his fault_ that Bucky had fallen from the train, into the icy chasm below. So, he _could_ believe it – he just didn't _want_ to.

Bucky had always been there for him. The days and years before he met Bucky were a blur of meaningless days he had few memories of. But as soon as Bucky had come into his life, he remembered the following days with almost perfect clarity. These memories had only been strengthened by the serum, passing in front of his eyes in colors as bright as the days they'd happened. And Bucky had been the focal point, the one who'd always kept him grounded and kept him from getting too depressed from all of his sicknesses and inability to do what everyone else his age could. Bucky hadn't cared that he couldn't do as much and play as much as most other boys their age – he'd stuck by him anyway.

And then the friendship had only turned into something sweeter, something so innocent and yet so _dirty_ at the same time. But not the dirty that came with bad things – no, these were all good things; _pleasurable_ things he'd never felt for anyone else.

Yes, it may have _started_ because of Steve's need to be punished and spanked; yes, they did discover a mutual perversion when those spankings happened while naked; and yes, they did enjoy the depraved sin of two men having sex in most every position imaginable…

But it was more than that. It was more than just the carnal pleasures they got from each other. It was the way they could sit in companionable silence or laugh hysterically with each other in their conversations. It was the way Bucky's eyes softened when Steve entered the room, or he would guide him through an asthma attack with all the patience and love of a saint. It was the way Steve could depend on the fact that Bucky would always put him first before anyone else, and he did the same for Bucky. It was the way they could argue over the stupidest things with each other like they were of national importance, but still be secure enough to apologize and know they would be forgiven by the other. It was the way Steve could watch Bucky breathing slowly and evenly in his sleep, snuggled close and warm in his presence even though the window was a bit drafty. It was the way Bucky would make spaghetti with extra sauce when he was feeling down, because he noticed things like what Steve's favorite food was and planned accordingly. It was the way he tried to teach Steve how to dance to the music that came in on their old radio, and only laughed without offense when Steve would keep stepping on his toes. It was the way Bucky would finally give up and dance himself with Steve in his arms and standing on his toes, pretending they both knew the dance.

It was all the little things in between that made Steve love Bucky. It wasn't just being attracted to men – or Bucky in particular, really – that made him fall in with the handsome brunette. Though the attraction was certainly part of it, he knew that if it was legal he would have married him and been with him forever.

And now…

Bucky was gone.

He could believe it, but he couldn't quite _understand_ it. Bucky's terrified face as he fell from the train continued to flash its way through his mind as he tried to get himself drunk in some stupid bar. Nothing was working, and the beer tasted like piss but he kept drinking anyway in the vain hope that _something_ would get through and allow him to forget for just a _little while_.

It was a bit ironic, he thought darkly as he popped open another bottle. If Bucky were here, he would be going through these emotions with a trip over his knee – perhaps literally, even though his body wouldn't fit the same over the brunette's lap as it had in the past in the way they were both well familiar with. But if Bucky were here, then he wouldn't have these emotions that he _would_ need to get through.

Abruptly the anger he'd felt toward himself for several hours boiled over into white hot rage, and he threw the mostly full beer bottle against the far wall, where it smashed to spill the beer all over it.

And then the rage was gone, as quickly as it'd come, and he felt a terrible sadness wash over him. Breathing shakily, he rubbed his forehead with one hand and picked up another bottle with the other.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't do this without Bucky – couldn't _go on_. All the spankings in the world weren't going to relieve him of the guilt at letting his best friend and lover die. It would be useless, anyway – the only one he _ever_ wanted to spank him was Bucky; he didn't trust anyone else nearly enough to get that close to them again. And _Bucky_ spanking him was never happening again.

It was less than a week later, as the air whistled through the broken window at the front of the plane, that Steve looked at the missiles, and at the controls, and he had the realization. There was no way he was coming out of this alive.

And all he felt…was relief. His heart was still shredded with the pain of losing Bucky, and he didn't think it was a wound that would ever fully heal. If he could go down serving his country, and still be able to see Bucky at the end of it?

Well, there was no decision to be made.

 _I'll see you soon, Bucky,_ he thought, and turned the controls downward, directing the plane into a nosedive toward the expanse of ice below.

 **...**

 **One chapter left! Thanks to everyone who has read this!**


	6. The Time Bucky Needed It

**I have to deeply apologize, because I updated this back in July with the last chapter over on Ao3, and I thought I had here, but I got a review asking me to finish it and realized I never had. *shrugs helplessly* I'm more active over on Ao3...so if you have that, come find me over there! I always update over there first, too...**

 **Thank you to everyone who has patiently waited for the end of this!**

* * *

 **+1. June 2014**

He had been at the Tower for a couple of months now. Stark – Tony, as he insisted – had been the one to find him in Slovakia and convince him to return. The Soldier was still undecided on whether or not this was such a good idea, but until he decided definitively that it wasn't, he was staying put. Some part of him, that part of him from before the Soldier, from when he was Bucky Barnes…that part cried at the thought of making Steve Rogers upset.

The memories were returning, but not quick enough for his liking. Some were painful, nightmares really, except that he knew they were real, that he really had felt slick blood against his fingers more than a dozen times in his vile actions through the decades. At one point, he really had been uncaring, unfeeling, and cold as he killed a little girl's parents right in front of her.

Rogers – Steve – was a constant reminder for why he should stay, and keep fighting to be normal again, to remember. Maybe some of these memories were just the ramblings of a broken mind, but he was mostly positive that at one point, he had been in love with Steve Rogers.

It was that certainty that had originally made him think that all of the memories of him hurting the other man were false.

It hadn't been long after he'd run away from Hydra that a memory returned to him of bending Stevie – so small, so hopelessly defiant – over his own lap and whaling into him with a heavy wooden hairbrush.

He woke up gasping as soon as the Steve in the dream had begun to cry, the tears soaking into the fabric at his knee. After that, he tried not to sleep so much – he hated having those images poured into his mind.

But even when he was awake, he began to remember.

It was a little under three weeks since he had come to live in the Tower that the memories he'd previously thought were nightmares became clearer.

This one was another sex dream, but it was longer now. Before, when he'd had memories return of making sweet love on the floor of their apartment in Brooklyn, or even the ones of rougher sex against the kitchen counter, he hadn't had any bitter or horrible feelings about it. He knew that people enjoyed sex in all its forms, and he knew that if Steve really hadn't liked it, he wouldn't have the repeated memories of the skinny blond moaning for more, harder.

This time though, when Steve was begging for the same thing, it was while he was bent over his knee, Bucky using his hand against the naked backside while Steve rocked his hard groin against Bucky's lap. There was a wetness he could feel against his knee, but this time it wasn't tears.

For a long while, Bucky was uncertain how to deal with the new information. Rough sex was one thing, but…spanking? Who could possibly enjoy that?

Apparently he did, if the memories of his feelings at the time were in any way accurate. He didn't have any memories of Steve spanking him, but he woke up hard enough times from those dreams that the arousal couldn't be so easily dismissed. And that meant that he had enjoyed, at least at one point, hurting Steve.

Of course, that didn't stop him from choking on self-loathing during any of those times that it was just a spanking – the ones where Steve was crying and wriggling around as though to escape the pain, where Bucky's arm trapped him against his body so that he could continue to hurt him.

He didn't know how to escape the guilt of it. Wasn't sure he wanted to. But he felt the need to atone. He told himself that it was mostly to punish himself for all of the deaths he had been a part of, but somehow, without his having realized it, he began to think guiltily more of the times he had hurt Steve. And not just when he'd spanked him; he was uncertain about everything that had gone down decades ago, before he'd had electricity shot through his brain and been frozen for months and years at a time, but he could recall with clarity how he had whaled into Steve as Captain America on the helicarrier months before. That time, and the time he'd fought with Steve and Natalia and Sam on the bridge, he knew that it wasn't something Steve had asked for or enjoyed.

"You're my friend," Steve's voice echoed in his mind – his heartbreak clear as he pleaded for Bucky not to fight him. Now, with a more solid understanding, he could see even more how his actions that day had pained him.

And Bucky wanted to make it better. He wanted to show Steve how sorry he was for any and all pain he had caused him – in the twenty-first century as well as in the forties. But he wasn't sure how to do it.

He started simple. He began to prepare breakfast for Steve in the morning. He made sure the fridge was stocked with his favorite white grape juice, and defended it from Clint's grabby hands. He shined Steve's shoes, and sewed a button back on to one of his shirts when Steve left it behind for later. He couldn't do anything outside of the Tower yet – the idea of going outside at the moment made his throat close in fear – so he couldn't get Steve his favorite bagel from that stand on 5th or his white mocha from the tiny little shop a couple of blocks down. But he did what he could to serve the blond from inside the Tower.

But it wasn't enough. Somehow, Bucky had known that it wouldn't be, before he had even gone into it. But he had hoped.

However, when he did these things, it made a little furrow appear between Steve's eyebrows; when he noticed, he still said, "Thanks, Bucky," but there was still a slightly troubled tone he could pick up beneath the affected enthusiasm. And he knew, without Steve having to say anything directly, that he was acting differently enough from the Barnes that Steve remembered that it was more worrying to the blond than anything else.

And that wasn't what Bucky wanted.

Failure, he reported to himself, self-loathing pouring off of him in waves. Not enough.

And suddenly, as he woke from another nightmare one night, gasping and trying to regulate his heartbeat, it came to him. He knew how to atone for his transgressions toward Steve.

In all of the bathrooms in the Tower, there was a small box under the sink with a hairbrush inside. The label said 100% Boar Bristle. The base was a nice ebony wood, solid and dark. It was very high quality; never let it be said that Tony didn't know how to treat his guests or semi-permanent residents.

It was perfect for what Bucky needed.

Taking the brush from his own bathroom, he went on the hunt for Steve.

It wasn't difficult – this time of day, after lunch, he could usually be found in the gym, whaling into a punching bag or practicing throws with his shield against the robots that Tony had set up for that purpose. Bucky had yet to determine positively whether this was to keep him up to fighting or if he was trying to work off stress. Perhaps it was a combination of both.

Nevertheless, it made it easy for Bucky to find him when he needed him, and when he entered the gym at exactly 1:04 PM on Tuesday, he found Steve, as expected, pounding into a punching bag. No one else was there.

Steve didn't notice him yet, it seemed, because he kept punching, and Bucky paused, watching the ripple of muscles in his back and in his arms. He could recognize, in an abstract sort of way, that the man was attractive. And his body seemed to have muscle memory, at least, because seeing him in his dreams, being intimate with him, always made his cock stand at attention by the time he awakened. He wished he could feel the same thing when he was awake, but with his consciousness working, he just couldn't convince his body that Steve was the same Stevie as in his dreams. It was never quite enough. But he knew that Steve must remember, and Steve must want to go back to the way things were Before. And Bucky knew, in an abstract way, that he would have wanted that at one point too. He wanted to want it, and thus, he watched Steve beat the punching bag, knowing that at one point he would have found it very interesting, in a different way than he did now.

Shaking himself, he forced his thoughts away from the blond's body, and walked closer to the man.

Steve heard him then, and he stopped punching, wiping a bit of sweat off his brow. He hadn't been going at it very long – he only had a bit of sweat under his arms and in the small of his back. But he gave Bucky his full attention, grabbing the bag to get it to stop swaying.

"Hey, Buck," Steve greeted, as though nothing was odd about Bucky coming in there to seek him out. Which it was. Odd, that is. Bucky hadn't actively seeked Steve out before, in his two months at the Tower. "What's up?"

Now that he was here, Bucky wasn't sure how to go about discussing what it was he'd come down here for. He wasn't sure how to make Steve understand. He wasn't sure he understood it completely himself.

"Bucky?" Steve questioned when Bucky didn't say anything immediately. His brow creased with concern, and he reached out hesitantly with one wrapped hand. A moment later, he seemed to catch himself and dropped his arm. "Are you alright?"

"I am functional," Bucky responded automatically to the question, and then winced mentally. The phrasing was just a bit too much like the Assett, and he knew that Steve didn't like that. But at least he had remembered to put it in the first person this time. Progress, see?

In any case, Steve didn't react to the comment outwardly – not like he would have when Bucky first arrived, all cringing expressions and pained winces that at first had made Bucky think the man was disappointed in him and had him struggling to find a way to give the man what he needed. Now, at least, he could look back and remember those expressions for what they actually were.

"What do you need, Buck?" Steve asked directly, which Bucky appreciated. It was something that Sam had told Steve to do – ask direct questions that made it easier for Bucky to respond to – and Bucky was grateful for it now. It made it easier to loosen his tongue and ask Steve exactly for what he needed.

"I need you to hit me," Bucky blurted.

To his everlasting credit, Steve didn't even flinch at the request that was almost a demand. Instead, he stilled completely, and his gaze went down to the brush clenched in Bucky's right hand. Looking back up, he met Bucky's gaze directly and clarified, "You mean you need me to spank you?"

Throat tight, Bucky nodded jerkily. "Yes," he confirmed. He wasn't getting caught up in semantics, he just – needed this. And he needed Steve to be the one to do it.

Steve paused, thoughtfully. After a moment, he began to unwind the wrapping from around his hands, still quiet. It was only when he had moved on to the other hand that he spoke again.

"Mind explaining to me why?" Steve asked gently.

Bucky had expected a question like this, and yet it still threw him for a loop as he struggled to answer.

"I hurt you," he managed. "I remember – Before. I used to – to you."

"You know all of that was consensual, right?" Steve asked, concerned.

Until Steve had said this, Bucky hadn't realized how worried he had been that it – well…wasn't. Some of the tightness in his chest eased as he nodded.

"And – I know – Hydra…" he struggled to explain, and thankfully Steve waited patiently, watching him carefully. His eyes were very blue, Bucky noticed. He had seen it before, but now it seemed more important, standing this close to him and knowing what he did now. They had a bit of green in them. They were beautiful.

"I know everyone tells me that it wasn't my fault," Bucky said, a bit calmer. "But – I still – I still hurt all those people. I hurt you. And – I think you were calmer, after... After. So maybe…I could…"

"Alright, Buck, I understand," Steve said, his voice heartbreakingly gentle, and finally, he touched him, resting a hand on his elbow. Bucky stared down at it dumbly for a moment – this was the first time he could remember, ever, that someone had touched his metal arm without fear or loathing or as anything other than to cause pain. He blinked back up at Steve when the blond began speaking again, still touching his arm.

"We are going to have some rules for this, though," he said seriously. Bucky gulped, trying to think of what those rules might possibly be and attempting to convince himself that Steve wasn't like Hydra; he wasn't going to trick him into rules that would only cause more pain and suffering. Although that was what Bucky had asked for, he wasn't sure what Steve might come up with, and that's what made him nervous, more than anything else. He'd mentally prepared himself for this. But surprises were never good.

"Let's go upstairs," Steve suggested without elaborating on what those rules were going to be.

Bucky followed along willingly, and Steve led him to his quarters, and Bucky tried to convince himself that Steve was his friend, and he wasn't going to pull something out that would only cause him more pain. Unnecessary pain.

Steve led him to the couch, sitting down and directing Bucky to sit down on the other side. Clasping his hands, Steve worried his bottom lip with his teeth for a moment before he turned to face Bucky fully, one foot under his knee as he sat sideways on the couch. Bucky remained still, waiting for what Steve was going to say. Whatever he said, Bucky would accept his conditions. It was the only way he could begin to atone.

"Once, when I was trying to enlist, I was convinced that I needed you to belt me," Steve started out with, and Bucky blinked a bit, not having expected a story. But he listened intently as Steve continued, "You would have none of it – insisted I was being crazy. I didn't need to prove myself to anyone. But I was stubborn." He smiled wryly at the memory. "And you were worried about how far I would take it if you refused me. So you made me a deal – this is the deal we're going to make, again, today."

Bucky began to feel an inkling of dread. From what he knew about himself from Before, he could be as bullheaded as Steve. This didn't bode well for him.

"I'll spank you," Steve accepted, and motioned to the brush Bucky still held in one hand. "And I'll use that brush, if you like. But when you're done, when you've had enough, you're going to give me the same amount, with the same force, that I gave to you."

Bucky's mouth was dry. He was right – he hated these rules. And he knew that Steve was as stubborn as purported by others and by his shaky memories. There would be no convincing him against this plan. But – "Why?" he questioned.

"Because I know that your guilt is going to push you past what should be acceptable," Steve said simply. "And I know you don't believe me right now, but you don't deserve any of it. You don't need punishment, or to right any wrongs, because they're not your wrongs. They're Hydra's.

"But…" the hold on Steve's expression seemed to slip for the first time since Bucky had approached him in the gym, and Bucky saw the distraught, miserable look underneath the careful veneer of calm. "I know that you won't feel okay again until you feel you have given something in return. And I know half of that is proving it to yourself. So I'll spank you. But I want you to understand, later, when you can look back at this with a bit of distance and more understanding, how this is all just as much my fault as yours. And if I'm punished equally…" he shrugged helplessly, appearing more like his chronological age of twenty-seven than his actual age of ninety-four. "I don't know what else to do to prove it to you."

It hurt, but – "Alright," Bucky accepted, hiding his nervousness. "I don't…How do you want me?" he couldn't remember ever being spanked – not even the time that Steve was describing. He didn't know how it would work, what he was supposed to do.

The tips of Steve's ears suddenly turned a bit red, but his expression remained calm and gentle.

"The bed has more support," he said, rising to his feet. "You can bend over the side."

As they crossed the threshold into the bedroom, Bucky felt a calm wash over him. He was going to be punished, and then he would be better. He was so close to accomplishing his mission, and it soothed something inside him to realize that. His stomach churned at the thought of hitting Steve too, but from what he knew and remembered about Steve, that was just the kind of man he was – the one who would insist it was equal, even at the expense of his own comfort. He wouldn't – didn't – fault Bucky for this.

Steve took the brush from Bucky, and without further ado, Bucky lowered his pants to his knees and bent the upper half of his body over the mattress.

"Count out loud," Steve instructed, and Bucky thought he heard his voice waver slightly. "When you've had enough, tell me in those words."

"Yes, Sir," Bucky breathed out against the blue comforter. A pause, before he heard movement behind him, a slow breath, and then a whack! against his rear.

Steve didn't say anything – everything that needed saying had already been dealt with. He simply doled out repetitive whacks with the wooden brush while Bucky counted out loud after each strike.

Laying there, feeling the bruising blossoming on his backside, his vision blurred, and he found himself on a ratty old couch, bent over the arm while a belt whistled through the air behind him. He realized that it was the memory that Steve had been speaking of just minutes before, and realized how much more force Steve was using now as opposed to decades ago. It made sense – at that time, Steve hadn't yet become Captain America. He didn't have the strength he did now.

Another whack brought him out of his thoughts. "Forty-nine," he remembered to say. And Steve continued.

In the end, it was a good fifteen minutes before Bucky called a halt to it. By then, his composure had been vastly shaken; his face was red, and he'd bitten the inside of his cheek hard enough that it would be sore for hours. He'd allowed no tears to fall, though. And he knew that Steve hadn't been holding back – the first brush had cracked around the ninetieth strike, and had broken clean around the hundred and thirtieth. Steve had had to get another one to finish up where Bucky wasn't done yet.

And he did feel better. Not one hundred percent, but – calmer. More settled.

Rising to his feet, he tugged his pants back up around his hips, relishing in the further burn and ache it caused and knowing he deserved it. Steve looked troubled at the two hundred and eighty-seven strikes he'd doled out, but he hadn't protested the entire time. Bucky didn't like the thought of dealing the same to Steve, but he wasn't one to go back on his word.

After fetching another couple of brushes, because the second one was looking a bit worse for wear too, Steve copied Bucky's earlier actions, lowering his pants and bending over the bed.

"Bet you can't break the first brush before sixty," Steve commented with a little smirk, dare in his voice for Bucky to do just that.

Bucky huffed though. "I know what you're doin', Stevie, and it's not gonna work," he drawled, slight Brooklyn leaking into his voice without his thinking about it.

"A man can try," Steve said placidly, before wiggling his rear slightly to draw attention to it. "Get to it then, Buck."

Steve remained as composed as Bucky had through the first hundred or so. It wasn't hard to do – for a super soldier with fast healing, it was only when they began to layer on each other that it was really felt all that badly.

Around one hundred and thirty, Steve began to shift and wiggle slightly after each hit, and around two hundred, his breath began to hitch. Bucky kept on with his steady pace, feeling an odd pain in his heart at seeing Steve in pain. But he knew exactly the kind of reaction he would be asking for if he stopped now. It was one of those instinctual things that he wasn't sure what the source of it was but was something that he had forgotten so long ago.

When he was finished, Steve's ass was fire engine red, all the more noticeable against the pale Irish skin. But, just as Bucky had, he stood up calmly, and pulled up his pants to his waist again.

"Thank you," Steve said in a slightly watery voice, startling and confusing Bucky.

"What? For what?" Bucky questioned, baffled. Had he beat the brains out of him?

"For trusting me," Steve said, sitting on the bed. He winced a bit and shifted, but otherwise gave no indication that his ass felt like it was on fire. "I know you could've gone to anyone to be – to be punished – so thank you. And for returning your end."

"Only you could punish me," Bucky found himself saying. And somehow, he knew it would be okay to sit next to Steve on the bed, even though he couldn't remember ever doing anything of the sort – recent memory or otherwise.

"One day, you're going to realize what you're worth," Steve sighed. "To me, and to yourself."

Bucky didn't know what to say to that. Silently, he reached out, tentatively, and touched the top of Steve's hand where it rested on the edge of the bed. Steve turned the hand over, and threaded his fingers through Bucky's. Bucky stared, marveling at the acceptance and care in the gesture. He looked back up into Steve's eyes – so blue, and trapping him in his gaze.

The corner of Steve's mouth ticked upwards in a slightly sad, but mostly hopeful smile. "Until then, I'll just keep loving you like always."

"'Till the end of the line," Bucky repeated. It seemed to be something Steve held to, and it seemed the right sentiment for the occasion.

The other side of Steve's mouth went up, and he was smiling fully now. "Yes," he agreed, squeezing Bucky's hand. "And beyond."


End file.
